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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28346919">can you hear me now?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae'>jessalae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Bodyswap, Established Relationship, M/M, Mirrors, Mutual Masturbation, Sort Of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:22:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,933</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28346919</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If he were in his own body, this would feel weird as hell, jerking off in front of a fucking mirror. Inconceivably arrogant. Probably he’d be too self-conscious about it to even get off. But now, while he's wearing Eliot’s body, it’s obviously the right call.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>can you hear me now?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/gifts">mixtapestar</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Holidays, Christa! Thank you for inventing this excellent little spell for all of us to play around with. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quentin’s minding his own business, his leg jiggling nervously, sitting on Eliot’s bed trying to… act Eliot-y. Whatever that means. Like, he can barely act normal when he’s his <em>own</em> self, and now he’s trying to be his boyfriend instead? </p>
<p>At least he’s hidden in Eliot’s room, not in the common room or out on campus. That would be a disaster, him trying to, like, <em>walk</em> with these mile-long legs, hold himself with any of the grace and confidence that Eliot has. No, he just has to <em>hang out</em>, sit here, stare at his massive hands and wish he’d thought to bring a book from his room before they did the spell but there’s no way he’s going to step out into the hallway like this to go get one. If Eliot would just <em>do something</em>, get this party started like he said he was going to—</p>
<p>That’s when he feels it, of course: a squeeze of fingers around his left wrist, then another one a second later.</p>
<p>He shivers — that simple, chaste touch feels better than it has any right to. He wraps his fingers around his right wrist and squeezes once, twice: <em>yep, it’s working. I can feel you.</em></p>
<p>Another squeeze on his left wrist, and then fingers trailing up the inside of his arm. He sent Eliot off in his body wearing long sleeves. Maybe he’s pushed them up — or maybe he’s already got Quentin’s shirt off. Another brush of sensation up over his belly, across his pecs, makes that second possibility seem a lot more likely.</p>
<p>Quentin starts undoing Eliot’s vest, fingers trembling on the mother-of-pearl buttons as he feels strong hands smooth over his chest, a broad thumb tease at one nipple, <em>fuck</em>. He should’ve done this before, while he was waiting, Eliot always wears like twelve layers of gorgeous bullshit, it’s gonna take him forever to get out of it.</p>
<p>Those hands leave his chest and slide down his thighs, and Quentin looks down at his borrowed body as if he’s going to be able to see them, see his own fingers squeezing, massaging their way up again, spreading his legs. He sees nothing, of course, except Eliot’s legs, long and lean in perfectly-tailored blue slacks. Well. Perfectly-tailored except for the growing bulge in the front.</p>
<p>All of a sudden an idea strikes him, as he’s working on the buttons of Eliot’s shirt, getting distracted every button or two to rub his fingers through Eliot’s chest hair, lick his thumb and work a nipple to a perfect deep red peak. He stops and gets off the bed — it’s a lot easier to swing these legs over the side, there’s less undignified scooting to get close enough to the edge to step down — and goes over to the full-length mirror that leans against the side of Eliot’s armoire. It’s heavy, but he wrangles it until it’s propped against the wall across from the bed, then goes about setting up pillows and cushions near the foot of the bed so he can get the angle he’s looking for.</p>
<p>He’s just about done when he feels another two squeezes on his wrist — <em>everything okay?</em> He sits on the end of the bed and leans back against his mountain of pillows, then squeezes back to communicate <em>yeah, all good</em>. </p>
<p>And it is all good, because set up like this, he has a beautiful view in the mirror of Eliot’s body — cheeks a little flushed, shirt half-open, eyes dark. The sight hits him like a shock, makes him stiffen up even more in his pants. He rubs one of those huge hands over his erection, feels a sudden tight squeeze on his wrist, and grins, Eliot’s face splitting into that beautiful broad smile. Nice to know that the surprises aren’t going to go just one way, here.</p>
<p>He leaves Eliot’s shirt mostly on, just untucks it and gets Eliot’s belt off, his fly open. He’s got silk boxers on underneath, and Quentin grips his cock through the smooth fabric, squeezing. It feels fucking good. And then he feels an answering squeeze through coarser fabric (his own cotton boxer-briefs), even better, the slide of a hand over his dick from root to tip, and he moans, deep and pleased, in Eliot’s voice.</p>
<p>He gets Eliot’s dick out, heavy and thick in his hand, and surely he’s only drooling because it’s Quentin’s mind in Eliot’s body, right, Eliot can’t actually really really want to suck his own dick? He’ll have to ask about that later. For now he gets comfortable, wrapping one of these huge hands around the base of his dick and letting his eyes drift back up to the mirror, a jolt of arousal spiraling through his body at what he sees.</p>
<p>If he were in his own body, this would feel weird as hell, jerking off in front of a fucking mirror. Inconceivably arrogant. Probably he’d be too self-conscious about it to even get off. But wearing Eliot’s body, it’s obviously the right call. Watching his legs spread and his back arch when Quentin starts stroking his cock, slow and steady and with that little curve of his thumb over the head that makes Eliot shudder. Admiring the drag of his long fingers down the pale column of his throat, over his chest. He’s fucking hot in his clothes and hot out of his clothes but Quentin might actually like this best, Eliot half-dressed, disheveled, too turned on to bother getting all the way naked, he just has to touch that big fucking cock—</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Quentin breathes, as the hand Eliot has wrapped around Quentin’s cock somewhere out there starts moving faster, getting serious. Quentin matches his pace, and the twinned sensations, the pleasure of two handjobs at once, ricochets through him, making his skin tingle, his nipples tighten. He watches Eliot’s chest heave in the mirror, his cheeks redden. His hair is still too perfect — Quentin rakes a hand through the artfully arranged curls, making them spiral out in all directions. <em>There</em> it is. That’s the visual he was looking for, the one he always wants to achieve when they have sex: Eliot, completely <em>wrecked</em> by him. </p>
<p>Eliot must have felt the hand in his hair, because all of a sudden there’s a tugging sensation at the back of Quentin’s head, like Eliot’s got a fist in his hair, then a sharp <em>pull</em>. Sparks of pleasure-pain radiate down the back of his neck. It happens again — Eliot’s pulling Quentin’s hair in time with the movements of his hand on Quentin’s dick, and <em>fuck</em> that’s good. Quentin tries to drag his thoughts together, figure out what he can do in return. He licks his thumb — takes a moment to run his tongue over it deliberately, remind Eliot what that mouth he’s got custody of can do — and brings it back to Eliot’s nipple, teasing, then working his way up to pinching. It feels <em>really</em> good, in this body, Eliot’s sensitive there. His big cock jumps, and Quentin almost loses control of it, still not used to the length and weight even with bigger hands to match.</p>
<p>Quentin’s hips have started to rock in time with Eliot’s strokes, and he can feel his muscles tensing, his balls heavy and hot pulling against his body. He’s not ready to be done with this, though, he hasn’t gotten Eliot close enough. He makes a careful gesture towards the bedside table, a spell he can do far more easily in this body than in his own, and the bottle of lube sitting there flies into his hand. </p>
<p>He gets it open, gets some in his palm, and curls it over the head of Eliot’s cock. It’s <em>so</em> fucking sensitive, so he starts out light, rubbing in careful circles, still stroking at the base with his other hand. Through the spell, he feels Eliot’s hand tighten abruptly on his cock, his rhythm faltering. He laughs, the sound coming out breathless and delighted in Eliot’s voice. He moves his hand a little faster, enjoying the pure pleasure winding through his body, settling in his hips.</p>
<p>In the mirror, Eliot’s face is flushed, his hand is nearly a blur on his dick as Quentin works the base and plays with the head. His thighs are spread as far as they can go with his pants barely shoved down. Quentin feels fingers running down his chest, squeezing his own body’s bare thighs, playing with his balls — then sliding back up his body, slipping over his throat and up into his mouth, wet heat around two fingers as Eliot sucks them hard and sloppy. It’s too much, the slide of his palm over the ultra-sensitive tip of Eliot’s dick, the quick motion of Eliot’s hand on his dick, fingers in his mouth while he jerks at Eliot’s cock, the sight of Eliot’s so-fucking-close face in the mirror—</p>
<p>Quentin cries out in Eliot’s voice as the force of two orgasms explodes through his body — both his bodies, the one he’s wearing and the one Eliot’s borrowing — come everywhere, all over his hand and Eliot’s slacks and all the way out to the mirror across from him, somehow? He has to take his hand off the head of Eliot’s cock immediately, it’s too shocky-sensitive to keep playing with, but he strokes the thick shaft until he’s stopped shuddering. Then he collapses back on the bed, letting himself sink into the mattress, and closes his eyes to wait.</p>
<p>He feels the tingle of clean-up magic, then a little while later a rush of breeze on his face. Footsteps on the stairs herald Eliot’s triumphant return. </p>
<p>“Hey,” Quentin’s own voice says, and Quentin looks up to see himself (which never stops being weird) stepping into the room, taking in the scene. “You had some fun while I was gone, I see.”</p>
<p>“That was the point, wasn’t it?” Quentin’s going to sit up, but Eliot flops down next to him, silky hair going everywhere, so he rolls to his side instead. “How far did you get?”</p>
<p>“I was over in an empty room in the first-year dorms when I got a response,” Eliot says. “I tried at the very edge of campus near the portal, and then up in the Observatory. I think that would have been within range, but the additional height messed it up.”</p>
<p>“Weird, since I’m also up high,” Quentin says, then blinks, a bolt of concern running through him. “Wait, were you gonna jerk off in the Observatory? In <em>my body</em>?”</p>
<p>“There was nobody around,” Eliot says calmly. His smirk looks — weirdly hot, actually, on Quentin’s face. Quentin should learn to raise just one eyebrow, it’s a good look for him. “I put up a concealment charm. And it’s not like it took us very long.” He leans in and kisses Quentin, soft and comforting at first, then harder, hungrier, as pleasure ricochets through them both from the echoing effects of the spell.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I can go again yet,” Quentin says, as Eliot sinks his teeth into his earlobe. “Or, if you can? I went kinda hard on this dick, is what I’m saying.”</p>
<p>“You absolutely did,” Eliot murmurs. “Your body feels like it needs a nap, anyway. Shall we switch back and do that?”</p>
<p>Quentin considers. “Can we nap without switching back?” he asks. “I kinda want to see what it’s like to cuddle me as you.”</p>
<p>Eliot laughs, sits up, and starts stripping out of Quentin’s clothes. “Heavenly, is what it’s like,” he says. “But come on, get undressed and you can feel it for yourself.”</p>
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